Above the Fall
by artbeatsandlife
Summary: Ron has never been more sure of anything in his life. He's done the work, revisited demons of his past, and now, he's ready for the most important step with the only woman he's ever loved. Post-DH, Pre-Epi, Rated M for Language, Lems, and Adult Sit.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter characters, themes, and related likenesses are owned by J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Scholastic Press, Allen & Unwin, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Pictures. No profits have been received in the production of this creative piece. **

**Basically, **_**Above the Fall**_** was written just for fun :)**

Story Banner: http(:/(space)/)farm6(dot)static(dot)flickr(dot)com/5274/5869482916_217648361a_b(dot)jpg

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

As they began to take their leave, his mind was still sharp, adrenaline coursing through him like fiendfyre, burning up his flesh. He glanced around, instinctively – they all did, just to be safe. Keenly, he looked over the greenery surrounding the remote little cottage, a contradiction in its beauty, juxtaposed with the piece of shit they'd just captured.

Swallowing air in quick gulps, he pulled himself from that trained height of energy, that anxiety that he'd learned to harness into something much more useful to him – to all of them. His breathing slowed, his heart paced, the pulsing behind his vision subsided, and then he was back.

He finally allowed himself the luxury of tiredness; and he _was_, as tired and exhausted as he always was after these long days away. His body was weary, but he could finally leave. They were done. His purpose was fulfilled, the criminal secured by his squad members moments before, assisted by a secondary support unit. The wizard would make his way to processing at the Department, then, he'd probably spend a night or two in a holding cell at Azkaban.

His friend – his brother really – looked at him with his ironic grin, set with sadness just around the edges, pushing his round-framed lenses further up his nose. Ron glanced at the other man to his left, broad and solid, and as tall as he himself was. There was no trace of his once round cheeks or the clumsy boy he'd known all those years ago, age and experience etched across his inviting face. He slapped a hand on Ron's back in a silent affirmation, and they all shared the same quiet gaze in agreement. The most senior and thus, the last of the group to leave, they turned on the spot in a near-synchronized, long-since mastered, soundless _pop_.

In the next moment, the familiar tug released his gut, and he landed stealthily in a swirl of air and movement on the familiar concrete landing, with the pot of bluebells, the black door, and the gold Filigree unit number. He'd promised himself, he'd promised her, despite her frustrated protests (_"Oh, honestly, Ronald! I've been tortured by Death Eaters! Bloody Bellatrix herself! The least you can do is tell me how you got that cut on your shoulder! I'm stronger than you think, for Merlin's sake!" He smirked at her, knowing full well how strong she was. He was proud of her use of the swear, then proud of himself for being such a superb and terrible influence on her)_, that when he'd chosen to join the Corp and hunt down those countless remaining Death Eaters, he'd leave it in that entryway. He'd never bring it into their home and to her, not if he could help it.

Of course, none of it was ever quite a _choice _for him; it seemed that his life was hurtling towards this from the moment he'd met the small boy with the messy dark hair and the unmistakable scar on that scarlet train, nearly twelve years before. This was his destiny, as much as it was Harry's, and as much as his life had been moving towards her – this moment in time, them together. For her safety, and for the sanctity of their home, he'd leave the blood and violence and ill-thoughts wherever he'd found them. And for the time that they were together, those glorious, sweet moments, he would be hers and she would be his.

There were times over the years, though, when his open and relaxed subconscious betrayed both him and his promise. Those nights when he was away from imminent peril, when he was in their home, and the Death Eaters were at bay. He'd awake next to her, or on top of her, or under her, with a start, gripping his wand, covered in sweat, and with his mind racing.

That anxiety was not so harnessed then, and he would be _there _again. That first explosion would threaten to burst his eardrums, and he was running and dodging, ducking and whipping unicorn hair and Willow, shooting off spells and curses in wild directions; confusion and maelstrom at every turn.

Members of that homework club formed in the Room, now soldiers battling for their lives and the lives of the Wizarding World. Order members fighting alongside Professors and... kids, really. They were only children; soldiers, yes, but _Merlin _they were too young to have to execute the sorts of Killing Curses, and hexes and jinxes that made his sweat run cold to think about.

Green and red jets flew around him. Slashes of flesh and blood, and the sorts for Dark magic he'd never expected, or seen or heard of. The kind of demented people that would dream up such things. Things that were only created to torture, to maim and, the most merciful of them all, to _murder_. For so very long after, they had made him deeply question his faith in humanity.

Then, in an instant, those familiar places, those corridors of their beloved boarding school, were covered in soot and dirt and blood. There was another explosion. His throat would constrict, again, from the noxious air and the smell of carnage.

He was numb, standing there in the Hall, watching that one place where there was once no chaos. And, they'd seen, really _seen_,what the devastation of such a few short hours had looked like. The destruction, the...bodies of his friends and his peers would be spread out obscenely, and he was _there_.

During that short battle-pause, Voldemort's cold, rasping voice was mocking and haughty. Ron shuddered. The best of what was left of so many were the remains of the Killing Curse. The best he could hope for after they went searching for the wounded and dead was to find all body parts intact. He prayed for those bodies, not the bloodied heaps of flesh he stumbled upon more times than should have been asked of any teenager.

They all had the scars. He wasn't immune because he was best mates with _The Boy Who Lived._ He'd just waited a little longer for his mind to break, and surely it did.

Ron would wake with a trembling gasp or, when it was bad, a keening lament for his fallen brother. His dead eyes and haunting smile seared all the joyful parts of him, like his death was just moments before, or like Dementors were drinking what life Ron had left from his heaving body.

The celebrity, the Captainship, the Order of Merlin, the awards, the placards, his _heroism_, it was all gone, and really, he detested the phrase: _War hero_. What beauty was there in a war that left so few of his friends alive and well? What honor was in being able to wake and walk, and live and love when they were lain in the cold ground? All those years and all the medals were gone in those moments, and he was the same lanky, awkward, insecure man-child, with much to prove, and no clue how to prove it.

His love would run her small hands down his stubble-covered cheeks, swipe those treacherous tears away, and rub tiny circles along his back, mumbling salve on his soul's lacerations like dittany._ "It's okay, Ron...Its' okay...I know, I'm here. It's over...it's over, now...we're here; you and me. We're safe."_

He'd remember they weren't on the run. They weren't in that little tent, and there were no snatchers. They only visited 12 Grimmald Place by choice, not necessity or safety. He was in his warm bed with her.

And his heart would race and stutter, then ease...

He hated this part of himself. He hated the nightmares, the anxiety. He hated it all. He felt weak, and inadequate; he couldn't stand what was left of his emotions after the battle, even more than he'd hated them during those torturous years of youth, at the hands of his stronger, bigger and better older brothers.

He'd learned to loathe this part of himself even more after his training, but also how to _harness _it. He'd grown so much over that time, understanding that he was more than a punch line, and good for more than his fiery temper and a laugh. He was a man. He had grown to be one, he was sure, somewhere during those months away from his family and friends, and school, but then he'd become even more of a man after experiencing so much loss, and still being able to mature, and function and thrive.

Time heals all wounds but, after some four or so years, he still wondered when he'd really find his complete peace from everything. Things were better, that much was certain. No more daily and nightly mortal fear. No more heart palpitations when there was a knock at his door. Now, when he was startled or afraid, his mind would calm, his face becoming a mask of determination and confidence.

Ron muttered the counter spells to the dozen or so wards protecting their townhome, set in Mulberry Cross, a small but relatively modern, magical community, just outside London.

"'Ermione...M'home!" He was relieving himself of his heavy black uniform robes, and curse protective over-garments before he'd even completed the statement. Hermione bounded down the steps in the next moment, wild brown curls flying behind her, smile warm and welcoming with limitless excitement. She had missed him terribly.

"Ron! I hadn't expected you until tomorrow!" she squeaked. She threw herself into his arms, and rained love and kisses upon his wind burned face and chapped lips. He gripped her back, tightly, wrapping her up in his arms and burying his nose in her hair. She smelled wonderful, her body soft, and firm and _there_, pressing tightly against him, reminding him of all the amazing curves he loved so much.

He mumbled into her neck, "Yeah, well, I s'pose we did a little better than expected. The bloody bastard was hiding just outside Scotland, wan'nee?"

"Oh, that's brilliant, Ron! I know you did an amazing job, like you always do." Her eyes shined with pride as she ran her fingers across his pale face, and over his countless freckles. She loved when he'd come home with the rough fuzz of his face, more of a beard than when he'd left. His hair was wild fringe, nearing his shoulders, with bangs just above his eyelashes, matted to his scalp with sweat and dirt.

"Mmmm, love, I missed you so much," he whispered, pulling her tighter still against him. He was in good spirits. The catch and being back with her had made him that way. Ron loved the feeling of purpose that being an Auror provided, joined with the feeling of emotional and physical need he'd always gotten when he was with Hermione.

"I missed you, too, so much." She had the distinct urge to wrap her legs around his waist, and show him just how much his presence had been missed in their home.

Ron had always been awkward: his arms too long, his legs too thin, and his feet too large –lanky. His training, though, with those tiresome months away from her, had done his rather thin frame a service. Over the years, after hours of wand work and combat, his shoulders widened, straps of muscle wrapped his arms, thighs and chest, and his jaw had squared.

She still remembered the first time she'd seen him after all those months of separation, her nose finally away from her books and the revising of her N.E.. He was surely still her Ron, that Weasley hair shining fiery in the sun. Yes, he was still her rather batty, funny, die-hard Quidditch fan of a boyfriend, but so much had changed. Beyond his appearance – which was a change that no red-blooded witch could ever deny being a thing of beauty – there was so much more. She could see it in the intensity of his eyes, his posture, and his new-found confidence. He was a man. Very much so. And she fell in love...and _lust_, a little more.

Auror camp had helped even more than Ron had thought it ever would, providing him the means and strength he'd had buried and dormant inside. The healer also helped, of course, in ways that no one ever really could. He was always far too guarded to let many know the deepest parts of his mind and soul.

The moments he spent with his family had helped, as well. Charlie was around a little more, and so was Bill; additional fathers and mentors of sorts. Just after the war, Percy'd returned to the fold, though his guilt was still palpable, as they'd talk, albeit awkwardly, across their Sunday dinner table at the Burrow. What's more, the addition of so many nieces and nephews helped more than he'd expected.

And George...

Those nights with him, alone, because he would have no one else, were difficult. More than a few times, Ron would find him staring into space, which was never actually hard, not really. It was the breaking moments, when George was so full of pain, so overcome with agony that his soul overflowed into a frightening heap of tears and shaking, and moaning on the floor of the bathroom he'd once shared with his twin. Those were the moments that Ron dreaded.

Thankfully, they were passing those moments now. He had Angelina, and he'd opened up more to his mum and dad. The attacks came fewer and fewer, until the agony was more of a dull ache that would never fully go away. The cut was still too deep, and the wound too new, even after all this time.

Hermione was there, too, and she'd helped him – all of them – to heal. He would have never been able to on his own. She'd been the one that suggested they all visit the small auxiliary unit of mental Healers, just blocks from St. Mungo's, a couple of months after the Battle.

It had been getting harder and harder for him to do it alone, and when Harry was having an ever more difficult time getting through each day without falling into himself, as well, they all knew that their problems were bigger than magic. They were larger than their teenage minds could comprehend. They'd have to get the help, and definitely before training began that following fall, if they'd expect Kingsley to allow them to enter the Corp.

"_So...Ronald—"_

"_Ron. Just Ron."_

"_Ron. My name is Patricia Thurkell. I'd like to talk with you some, if that's okay."_

"_Yeah, sure, right."_

"_Alright, then. What brings you here, today?"_

"_Wha— I mean, don't you already have it all down? I mean... I thought—"_

"_Yes, Ron, I do have a file on you, but I'd like to talk with you...without the paperwork." Ron nodded, but was having growing difficulty understanding her angle._

"_Well...I, I mean, I promised my girlfriend that I'd come and meet with you. So...here I am, aren't I?"_

"_Yes, well, I would imagine so. You mentioned your girlfriend—"_

"_Hermione."_

"_Hermione. Now, what does Hermione say is the reason you've come here today?"_

"_She says...I mean, I've just been having some nightmares, and things."_

"_Things? Why don't you tell me about these nightmares, and things? Why don't we start there?"_

"_Uh... I. I guess..." Ron shifted on the rather comfortable couch, surrounded by cushy pillows and a bright orange, chenille throw blanket. The room smelled of sage and some other sweet fragrance he couldn't quite identify. It was rather dim, save for the light from a tiny window streaming in from the midday sun._

"_...it's always the same. Always."_

"_The nightmares, and things?"_

"_Yeah. I'm running with my brothers beside me, my heart's beating out of my chest. We're fighting, we're...battling with the rest, hexes and curses are flying everywhere, and then..."_

"_And then..."_

"_...and then there's this explosion. I feel like my eardrums are gonna burst, you know? Then...It's Fred, it's my brother..." The witch nodded her head, urging him to continue, and scribbling something on the pad of parchment she held in her hands. "He was hit..."_

"_And then what happened, Ron?"_

"_He..." Ron swallowed, thickly, looking at the witch sitting across from him, peering over her thin-framed spectacles. She reminded him of McGonagall, only twenty years younger, and without the Scottish accent or the condescending glare._

"_Did he die, Ron?" she asked, after several painfully long moments of silence, while he tried to find his voice. Ron nodded his response, finally scrubbing a hand over his weary face and looking away, to anything but the witch's steely gray eyes. "How did that make you feel?"_

"_How did it make me feel? You've gotta be bloody kidding me."_

"_I assure you, Ron, I am not. I'm positive there is much more to be learned from your nightmares, and... things; I'd like to explore those feelings."_

"_Why would you want to go and do a bloody mental thing like that? I'm fine. I told them I was fine!" He felt himself – the anger, the pain, always there, ready to rise into an incoherent fury. There was no reason, none at all, that he'd become this upset this quickly, but this healer had a way of making him..._feel_. He was feeling so strongly in that moment that he thought his heart would fly into pieces around the room._

"_Ron, you must understand: you are a war survivor who has seen and experienced quite a lot in his young life. It would be best—"_

"_Yeah, right...To talk about it."_

Getting Ron and Harry to visit the healer hadn't been easy, naturally. It took Hermione some time, and she spent it quietly working on each of them; attempting to get them to be reasonable, helping them to understand that they'd made it through unspeakable horrors at such a young age, and shouldn't expect to be equipped to handle it all alone.

She was patient, most of all with Ron, because she knew him, and the parts of him that he wouldn't allow seen by anyone but her. She knew the best and worst of him, had known him intimately, and longer in her life than she hadn't, and she wouldn't judge him. Instead, she used that knowledge to shift his view of such a thing. Admitting his shortcomings after developing his strength and fortitude around that common evil, it...it took time. Time and patience was all that she had in those days, and weeks and months following the fall of the Dark Lord, and she was willing to give both he and Harry the best of herself.

He had been strong for her, his family, and Harry. He and his best friend had rarely talked about the battle directly. They'd kept more of a silent acknowledgement, and a quiet support when things had gotten too difficult to bear. In those moments, Hermione was able to be there for the both of them, so their burden was slightly easier to manage.

In keeping with her usual habit upon Ron's returns home, she began running her fingers over his body, his shoulders, his neck. She gripped his chin and tilted his face this way or that, examining every inch of him that she could see. Just as she was bending his arm at the elbow, watching for any tenseness or wincing in his handsome face, Ron smiled his brilliant smile that he reserved just for her.

"Hermione...I'm fine. I wasn't hurt at all beyond a few scratches, and I already used some ointment." He showed her his raw knuckles that had already begun healing. "See?"

She took his hands, flipping them over. Then, she ran her hand over his palm. "Alright, alright, you know... You know I get so worried."

"I know, love, I know. I'm fine, I promise." He looked in her brown eyes, a silent request to have her cease her worrying, ensuring that he was okay and unharmed. "I do, however, need a shower," he joked. "Love... Let me..." Hermione captured his mouth with her lips, again, and held his face to hers with her hands on either side of his jaw. "Let me take a quick shower..." he mumbled into her mouth, between intermittent kisses. "...don't know how you can stand the smell of me." Chuckling, he wrapped his hands snugly around her narrow waist, nuzzled his nose into the softness of her neck, then pulled away from her, stepping out of his mud-coated boots.

She groaned her disapproval. She didn't care how he smelled, for Merlin's sake. She'd smelled him as a fifteen-year-old, after his Quidditch matches, fresh from the pitch. He smelled wonderful to her at the moment, and looked even better. She wasn't happy, but she obliged him, letting him kiss her a few more times before disappearing into their second floor bathroom, with strewn clothing trailing behind him. She had missed him too much to say anything, barely caring at all as she found her wand and made quick work of landing the soiled heap into the laundry.

Hermione set off to the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets and refrigerator, pushing aside the raw roast, still in its packaging, which she'd planned to prepare as a welcome-home supper. She found there wasn't much else beyond leftovers. So, she turned and took the stairs two at a time. "Are you hungry? We have a leftover steak pie and some chicken, or I could cook something. We could get some take-away; maybe Chinese?"

She tapped the door, hoping to be heard over the water splattering against porcelain. Of course he was hungry. He was Ron after all; a Ron that had just returned from days in the field, of what she was sure consisted of quite awful food. "Uh...Yeah! Do you think I could have the pie? Or, maybe the chicken, as well? Do we have any mash?"

"Chicken _and _pie, Ron? And yes, there's a little mash there."

"I'm really, _really _hungry! Please and thank you!" He was scrubbing the leftover dirt that seemed caked in all sorts of inventive places on his body. He rubbed shampoo through his hair a couple times, for good measure, and let the near-scalding water burn off those days away. He washed until the water ran clear after hitting his skin. "Oh, and tea! Wait...do we have any Hogs Head?"

She thought for half a second, then smiled to herself, happy to have him home. "Yeah, I s'pose we do." Wand still in-hand, with a swish and flick of her delicate wrist, the piles of food were warming, the cap on the bottle of beer removed.

"Brilliant! Merlin, I'm dead knackered." He stepped from the claw-foot tub, quickly dragging his toothbrush around his mouth while exiting, effectively leaving puddles from the bath to their bedroom. Then, he found his favorite Cannons pajama bottoms in a neat pile in his cabinet. Still bare-chested and rubbing the towel through his damp hair, vigorously, he met her at their small dinner table.

He moaned, smelling the fragrant food, his mouth watering. He quickly draped the large cloth over one of the four chairs, leaving his hair standing on-end and him looking boyishly handsome. Grabbing Hermione by the hips, Ron pressed her back against his chest and whispered gratefully against her ear. "Have I told you how much I love you, today?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling his stiffening appreciation against the dip in her lower back. She breathed, "N-no...but I'm sure you can show me later."

"That sounds like brilliant idea," he whispered, again, squeezing her hips once more, for emphasis. Her head was simply swirling at the clean smell of him, his bare skin sizzling against her arms, through the thin cotton singlet she wore.

She had to gather her bearings, as he switched focus, tucking rather fervently into his late dinner. She'd had hers hours ago, so just a cup of tea was in order, and she crossed to their kitchen to put the pot on. Two cups of tea and a lemon square later, Ron was finishing off his second helping, mumbling approvingly and she began clearing their plates.

He leaned casually against the door frame, then went to her, his roaming eyes drinking in her body. She'd worn those cheeky little shorts that showed off her amazing legs that he loved, like she knew he'd be there that night to enjoy them. There was far too much space between them. So, he was against her, again, in a moment.

"Leave that for the morning," he whispered against her ear. "Or, even better..._Accio wand."_ The thin piece of wood was in his outstretched grip and, in a second, the dishes were spotless.

"You've been practicing."

"You're a good teacher."

"You're an even better one...in _other_ ways."

"Oh?"

"Oh, yes." She turned to face him, standing on toes, wrapping her arms around his neck. He truly did smell heavenly, like a bit of spearmint, and his soap, and springtime and _everything_.

He slid his tongue against hers, their slick mouths moving in a practiced dance; slowly, softly, patiently at first. Soon, though, they were feverish, Hermione running her hands across his chest, forcing small approving noises from the back of his throat. His lips were on her neck, placing open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder, sliding the straps of her shirt down.

He murmured into her skin, "Mmmm, I've missed you..."

Hermione was humming with excitement. He looked indescribably sexy; he was home with her, safe and whole, and he felt so good. She reveled in the feel of him, stiff against her, just as excited as she was. She pulled him up the staircase and to their room by his hand, nearly running in her urgency. These nights had been hard on her. She'd missed his touch, missed his voice, missed the way he said her name with such love and, later, passion.

She pulled at the drawstring holding Ron's trousers against his hips, as he lifted her shirt, palming each of her full breasts before easing her out of her shorts and knickers. There would be time for pleasantries and foreplay later, each of them much too excited to slow their pace. Hermione threaded her fingers in his hair as he lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist, and sinking into her as they fell against the bed. She moaned in pleasure against his mouth as he slid deeper. An overwhelming, passionate relief flooded between them while they sucked, and tasted and _consumed _each other.

Ron's name was on her lips as she climaxed quickly, then again just shortly after. He chuckled between his pants; she was always in such a hurry, never able to hold on, at least not for the first one. He thrust his hips against hers, insatiable, reaching deeply to parts of her until she moaned more, and cursed, and gripped the sheets, writhing.

Intellectually, he knew that they both had work the next day, and that he didn't want to exhaust her, but Ron had no control of himself, as he felt her soft skin, her painfully wet flesh gripping him. So, he kept going after the first and second time, never having enough, never tiring of the feel of her, or the way Hermione said his name. He ravished her until he physically no longer could, and they were spent, panting and slick with sweat. She on her stomach and he on his back, they lay tangled in sheets against each other, after she'd collapsed on top of him.

"That was bloody brilliant!" he whispered, breathlessly. His grin was wide, and red hair stuck damply to his forehead, as her eyes fluttered open, with flushed skin, dewy and beautiful.

"Merlin, Ron...that was..." She unconsciously tried her best to smooth her mussed hair, only to have him slap her hand a way. He wanted to see her just as she was. _He_ had made her that way. Hermione gazed at his distinctive toothy grin and glistening broad chest, making her want to mount him again.

"I know..."

"I didn't think I could..." She smirked. "I guess I missed you more than I thought…"

His hand crept toward her thigh, thrown lazily over his pelvis, and his grin widened further. "Do...you...do you think we could have another go?"

A very uncharacteristic tinkling giggle bubbled in her chest. "Great minds..."

"What? You were thinking the same thing?"

"Oh yeah." She smiled, quirking an eyebrow. "What? Don't look at me like that!" She slapped his chest playfully, sitting fully upright against him.

He matched her laugh, running his fingers through her hair, now wild and _freshly fucked._ "No, no...It's just..."

"What?"

"I love you. So much...promise me you'll always be here when I've come home. Promise me you'll stay with me."

Hermione looked into his eyes, and there was rawness, an intensity, that she'd long realized reached deep into his bones, and she rarely saw directed at her. She was always shaken by it. His eyebrows pinched in passionate concentration, and he took her again, deeper still. She arched upward, enveloping him into a protective embrace, kneading her fingers into his scalp.

"Of course Ron." She allowed him to press her into the mattress, linking his arms beneath her slight shoulders, pulling her closer to him – always closer. "Always."

/

/

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><p><strong>AN** – In case you were wondering, I fully had _Invictus_, by William E. Henley in mind at the end of this chapter. I think it fits well with the theme of this story.

Overall, this fic will be one of redemption that, despite its beginning will have lots of fluff, lemons (yes, _much_ lemonier than this one; no, I don't care if that's a word or not) and fun stuff. It will also take us on the road that Ron and Hermione had to travel to get to a better place, post-Final Battle. Hopefully I do both their struggle and the books some semblance of justice. This is my perspective.

Thanks for reading. I should update pretty regularly, seeing as most of the story's already written. You can expect around twelve or thirteen chapters out of this, and the occasional chapter banner.

Thanks to the Bonnie to my Clyde, the Thelma to my Louise, the Sam to my Dean, **Kay Cannon**, who betas all my work, and lets me take creative license much more than she ever wants to. If you find a comma splice or dangling participle, it's definitely not her fault. I'm just an artist, what can I say? *shrug.*

I'm on pretty much every social network site in creation, all under **artbeatsandlife**. At least on **Twitter**, you'll find a good mix of Harry Potter and Twilight shenanigans, not to mention on my **Tumblr, Robot Tango**, where I obsessively post NSFW items and anything related to Supernatural, tattoos, Harry Potter or Rupert Grint.

Anyway, I'm rambling into a ditch, so I'll just shut it. Until next time.

AB+L


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Hermione tried her best to unwrap herself from the tangled mess of long bare legs and naked ivory skin. Several times she was almost successful, but Ron was persistent and persuasive, and so very _sex_y, and, thus, he wouldn't allow it. The two made thorough work of Ron's welcome back, barely emerging from the comfort of their bed to show face at work at all.

Of course, there was no real travel time for either of them, which helped Hermione exponentially with getting into her office an hour before anyone else, as was typical of her. Ron had chosen to move a little more slowly, having a bit of a lie-in, and refusing to exit the bed before he'd made her arch her back in pleasure, loudly, again...and again. He _had _just returned from mission, after all. He was of the mind that his department should be happy that he came in at all, after a day like the one he'd had before.

His team had worked well together, disarming the suspect with little incident. Though, he did have to use a little physical _persuasion_, resulting in his injured hand. Even still, the mission had been a relatively routine one, not at all like the one's he'd seen in the past, with more vicious Death Eaters, and of course, the Vampires and Werewolves had always provided a bit more _interesting _days for him.

Hermione had to physically pull herself away from his gripping hands, laughing and slapping at him as she entered the bathroom for her shower. "Later, Ronald! Later, okay?" Her heart nearly melted at his pleading face. "I promise."She glanced back at him one last time, his long arms and legs strewn about their bed, his broad chest sprinkled with amber freckles, his bright ginger hair disheveled, and blue eyes twinkling with affection and a tinge of mischief.

She was blissfully happy; so excited to have him back in the house. It really was a home now, with him in it. Of course, she'd had her books, the radio, and the telly to pass the time, but, actually, nothing was the same without him there. She even missed picking up his scattered clothing, strewn about, and cleaning his dirty dishes, cluttering the sink.

It had taken a near miracle, but Ron dragged himself from bed after Hermione was long gone. He'd gotten himself dressed and stepped into the center of the living room, clad in his sleek black uniform robes and checked to make sure he'd had everything he needed for the day, including that damned _sell-you-lar fellytone_ Hermione insisted he carry. It comforted her for him to have it with him, and though it had taken him some time to learn to use the damned thing, he obliged, mostly because it was faster than Pig ever was, and more convenient than Floo. Really, he didn't have much of a need for it, beyond calling her and, well, letting his father tinker with it on Sundays, as he ate heaping piles of his mum's food, but there were few things he refused her those days, anyway.

Ron had refused to live in the bustling city of London, teeming with Muggle life he had no real knowledge or desire to learn of. He was a country boy, and meeting and becoming quite close to Hermione's family was enough for him. Not to mention that from what he'd heard and seen of the Dursleys, he wasn't quite sure he wanted to know much more. Their home was just a short Apparation away from anything they really needed anyway, and just a walk to the market and Muggle shops, as well.

Hermione wouldn't live in Ottery St. Catchpole; the rural life was more than she'd ever want this early into her Ministry career. So then, was their stalemate. Eventually, she did agree that perhaps an area not so busy would be a better place to settle in their future. The children needed a place to grow up, after all.

"_Perhaps a Quidditch pitch on the land, like at the Burrow_," Ron had suggested. He'd wanted enough children for a whole team, a thought that frightened Hermione more than she'd have liked, but endeared him to her nonetheless.

After securing his wand and his work bag, he was off to the Ministry. Sure enough, once he'd arrived, he had a stack of bureaucratic paperwork he'd have to fill out- that they all had to fill out- regarding their arrest the day before. It was his least favorite part of the job; he'd much rather just gather information and act on it all. The fallout of these missions was always a bother. He typically left that all to the team's assistant, Sophia when at all possible.

"'Mornin' Ron."

"Morning, Sophie," He smiled genially, at the young woman, taking the packet of folders from her waiting grip. He leaned his long body against the partition separating her desk and the walkway, shuffling through the papers and envelopes.

"Heard you, Harry and Longbottom were great last night. Everyone's all buzzing about."

"Oh?" Ron said, distractedly, nodding as she twittered about what she'd heard about the night before's activities.

"O' course! You caught him, din'cha ya? Jugson? That bastard's been causing trouble all over the countryside."

He finally glanced up, standing to his full height, then shifting self-consciously. "Well, I...I mean, we..."

"Weasley, you always were a modest one." She raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Even Minister Shacklebolt's heard about it, you know."

"He has?" This surprised Ron. He had no clue that this case was large enough to reach as far as Kingsley. If he were honest with himself, it was a pretty important capture, but, really, weren't they all? Less Death Eaters and supporters made all their lives and jobs easier. Of course, Kingsley was in the Order along with Ron, Harry, and Neville, but he was the bloody Minister for Magic, for Merlin's sake.

"Course!" She tucked a stray strawberry blond curl behind her ear, looking around and lowering her voice. "You know Kingsley hears _everything_." She bobbed her head once for emphasis.

Ron smiled. "That I do."

She shrugged. "Well, I just thought you'd like to know. You can tell Harry and Neville, and the rest as well. I'm sure he'll be 'round sometime today...or so I hear. "

"Thanks for the heads-up, Soph."

She waived him away. "No problem, atall! Now... About Jugson. I heard—"

Ron chucked, beginning to back away from her before he'd told too much. "Well, you know...you know we can't really talk about it until after the trial..."

"Oh, I know, I know...you Aurors and your secrets. Well, congrats to you – to the three of you. They're already here. Oh, and here you go; you've got enough paperwork to last you the day."

"_Hmm_, cheers," he replied, gripping the additional stack of parchment, sarcasm dripping. He swaggered down the aisle, then turned to his cubicle, covered in the same moving pictures of known and suspected Death Eaters and Dark wizards, and sweets wrappers littering the relatively large space. He pushed it all – well, most – into the bin, and began flipping through the stack of parchment that awaited him.

"What, do you suppose there were more with him last night?" Neville raised his eyebrow, glancing at Harry, who was tucking into his unwrapped bacon sandwich.

"Well, they're rather like ants, aren't they? Never just one. Once you find one, there's usually a few more around. We looked though; we covered that whole damn area."

"It really pisses me off, you know? All this bloody time searching for the piece of shite...I know there was someone with him out there. I know it." Ron glanced, a little too hungrily, at the sandwich. Then, rolling his eyes, Harry broke a piece off for the redhead.

"Ta, mate!" Ron forced the wad into his mouth. Harry replied with something about his stomach being like a rubbish bin, or something that sounded similar.

Ron figured he'd start in on the work he had to complete. Just as he was nearing the middle of the stack, around midday, an interoffice memo plane came flying toward his desk, crashing into his upper arm, then fluttering open in front of him.

"W'as this? Ah. Wizengamot for yesterday..." Harry said, smoothing out his own plane, pushing his ever falling glasses toward his eyes.

"The only thing I hate more than paperwork is having to listen to Munch droning on and on in court." Neville sighed, popping his head over the median separating his space from Ron's, taking a long sip of the lukewarm tea on his desk. The wizard ran his hand over the stubble edging his jaw, absently twirling his wand as he read the parchment.

"You said it," Ron agreed. "You'd think they'd make this kind of thing easier, but _no_, it's all about _process_."

Harry shook his head, running fingers through his already messy hair. "I supposed it's all fair, isn't it?"

"Still doesn't make it any less dull, does it?" Apparently, they'd all have to report to court in a month's time, to give an account on the arrest.

Ron sighed, stomach growling, notifying him that it was time for lunch. He wondered if Hermione would join him. Then, after ruling out the need for using that blasted fellytone, he decided to take a walk up to the fourth level and stretch his legs. Once reaching the next to last office in the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures, he tapped softly against the familiar wooden door.

"Yes, come in." She responded with a knowing smirk, not glancing up from her paperwork. "I see you made it in, and before noon. Who knew?"

"How did—"

"Could smell you, and I know your gait better than I know my own." A small smile passed over her lips as she finally met his eyes, the ever present sparkle for him in her gaze.

"_Blimey_, Hermione, which one of us should be out catching criminals, again?" He crossed the small space in three easy strides of his long legs, then bent to kiss her softly on the cheek. She blushed like it was the first time he'd ever done such a thing. She stood to give him a proper welcome, running her fingers through his shaggy red hair.

"I've missed you."

"You just saw me, Ronald."

"Four whole hours ago."

"That's hardly time to miss me."

"How would you know? Have you ever missed yourself? You're quite miss-able."

"That's not even a word"

"You would know, wouldn't you?"

"Well..."

He chuckled, softly, nuzzling her jaw. "Well, it's a word when I think about you and you're not around. All I did while I was in Scotland was miss you." She blushed, again, and ran her fingers along the baby-soft hair at the nape of his neck.

"I missed you too. You left me with quite the thoughts this morning." She lightly rubbed her cheek against his, feeling the stubble that never failed to make her squeeze her thighs together.

"Did I, now?"

"_Mmmm_. You made it terribly difficult to leave you lying there. Your hair was swallowing up your face in the pillow, and if you could see the way your body looks that early in the morning..."

He glanced at the floor, smiling, then back at Hermione. "Now, Miss Granger, I never would have thought you'd be capable of thinking such a thing."

He feigned surprise, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, then took a seat on the edge of her desk, pulling her tighter. Hermione slapped him lightly, on the shoulder, and kissed him softly on the side of his neck, effectively drawing a shiver up his spine. She glanced at those shockingly blue eyes, and they darkened as he edged his palms lower, settling on the curve of her bum in her fitted skirt.

"We can't, Ron. Not in here..." she breathed.

"We can... We _have_."

"That was _before_."

"Before, what?"

"_Before_, you randy thing, I decided that having a shag with you in the middle of the day in my office isn't the best way to get that promotion, yeah?" She smiled, then shivered as his large hands traveled down the sides of her body.

There was a long pause as she thought of a million more reasons why she shouldn't be his lunch that day. In the moment, none of them really seemed that adequate. He ignored her protests, kissing her neck softly, making her skin flush with excitement

"We can't, Ron!" She hissed, tugging away from him. "We can't!" She giggled, again, as he began easing her skirt upwards, and dipped his hand under her jacket, rubbing his thumbs over her hardening nipples. She whimpered, then relented her objections, walking a step closer to him and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Wha...wha'?" Ron's lips had traveled along the creamy sliver of skin and collar bone exposed beneath the unbuttoned blouse, stopping after hearing the interruption.

"The door!" Hermione whispered, pulling down her skirt, which had somehow made it just above her knickers, and straightening her blouse and suit jacket. Ron chuckled, flinging himself in the chair opposite her desk, as innocent as the cat that swallowed the canary. "Come..." she strangled, "Come in."

"Hermione."

"Oh, hello Minister Shacklebolt." The rather large man entered the office. Between him and Ron, at least two thirds of the room was taken up by tall male.

"Kingsley, Hermione. Let's have none of those formalities, shall we?"

"Yes...yes, of course, Kingsley." Hermione smoothed the front of her robes, and stretched her hand out to his, shaking it gently. She straitened her stance into a carriage of one that reflected her professionalism and extended education, and not that of a woman who, just moments before, had been felt up by her boyfriend.

"Now, then, I saw Ron come in and just wanted to shake his hand." He turned to Ron who was on his feet the moment he'd realized who had come to the door, trying his best to not blush wildly at the acknowledgment; he was a grown man, after all.

"Oh...well, thank you, Kingsley." He gripped the wizard's outstretched palm.

"No, no, thank _you_, all of you on that team. Great work on Jugson; heard he put up quite the fight. Of course, you handled it quite well, from what I hear from the other unit. You've done us a service, Weasley...there weren't many left after..."A rare passage of emotion crossed in his eyes, and it was gone so quickly that Ron couldn't be sure that it had even occurred. Kingsley coughed. "Well, in any event, thank you Weasley, for your work. I suppose you won't consider staying with us a little longer?"

"Well, thank you, sir. And, well, I haven't given it much thought. I was...I suppose I was just seeing where things'll take me."

The large man nodded, knowingly. "I suppose I wouldn't be able to talk Hermione into helping you make that decision, eh?"

Ron blushed a little more than he'd have ever wanted to have a wizard like Kingsley to have seen, not really answering the question, but shuffling his weight from one foot to the other and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well then, Ron, no need to make any decisions now. There'll be time for all that. I'm off to lunch; I'm assuming you two were, as well."

"Yes...I, uh, we were just headed out to the corner pub for some sandwiches," Ron said, pointedly glancing at Hermione.

"Well then, I'll get out of your hair. Ron, keep up the good work, and Hermione, I was looking over that proposed bill you sent over last week. Very interesting. I'd like to talk about it a little more. Put some time on my schedule with Regina, will you?"

"Yes...yes of course. I'll do that this afternoon."

"Alright, then. Have a good afternoon. Hermione, Ron." He closed the door behind himself, leaving the two looking at each other sheepishly.

Hermione stepped toward Ron, kissing him softly. "I'm so proud of you. Have I said that today?"

He grinned. "No, but I'm afraid I'll never tire of it."

"I'm proud of you."

A blush crept across his cheeks. "Yeah, well, all the work you're doing with the Goblins and Elves is something too. I don't get it, the whole thing's bloody mental, but I can see you care." He grinned at her. "Merlin, help anyone that gets in your way when you're on a mission."

She scowled in return, then smiled, taking the complement quietly. Gaining Ron's and Harry's approval was one of her life's joys; that, and the way he was looking at her in that moment. A hodge-podge of love, and awe, respect and lust all rolled together. Her ascent into Junior Ambassador to the House Elf community, and then to her current role as Assistant Secretary in the Being Division, was a swift but natural one.

At that moment, she was working feverishly to implement a bill to introduce to the Wizengamot that would protect Beings from prosecution surrounding their forced involvement in the Second Wizarding War, and the actions that surrounded it. She wanted so badly to make a difference, her passion for law and fair treatment only growing since completing her education and entering a fellowship program shortly thereafter. And, Ron was there, ever supportive and patient with her, and she with him. It was terribly difficult to be away from him for so long while finishing her education, and he in training, but they both knew it was for the best, for their future. What would be more important than chasing one's passions in life?

"Come on, you. Let's get some lunch, or else I have to get you naked in my office, before long."

"Oi! I'm not even that hungry! 'Sides I can think of something I'd rather be eating, anyway." He waggled his eyebrows, suggestively.

Hermione scoffed, then nudged him, playfully, with her index finger. "You are _such _a pervert sometimes, Ronald. Not to mention, a complete and utter liar. You? Not hungry?"

"Well... Maybe I'll get a little something...and a pudding, of course."

"Right, let's go. I have a million things to do this afternoon. We can't all sit around looking pretty and ginger, getting pats on the back from the Minister for Magic."

Ron protested, swatting her on her bum before they exited, and walked to the lifts.

..~~..~~..

"M'going with Neville and Harry to Broomsticks after work for a drink." He bit savagely into his roast beef sandwich, swallowing a few mouthfuls of butterbeer behind it.

"Oh, are you? Well, you'll be home for dinner, though?" Hermione took a dainty bite of her salad.

"Yeah, course."

"Good, because I'm making pot roast."

"Merlin, woman. I'm never leaving you. You're amazing."

"Good. I want you to remember that the next time I'm reminding you to pick up your socks or not to walk through the house in your filthy boots, and I've become _a bleedin' nag, sometimes_."

"Heard that, did you?"

"Ears like a hawk. Remember that, too." She grinned merrily, before taking another bite of her salad, and sipping her tea.

"Me and George were just k—"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry."

"_Mmhmm_."

Ron ran his fingers through his hair, smirking at her with a mixture of bemusement and admiration. "You're something, right."

"So I've heard." She took another sip of her tea. "You know, Ron, I only do it to keep some resemblance of order around that house."

"I know, I know..." He rolled his eyes with a larger smile. "Hermione, I'm pretty sure that I've heard this a million times, you know?"

"And yet, I have to tell you all the time. Granted, I'll say you've been better with the dishes, but, really, your wet towels and footprints all over the floor—"

"I'd just gotten out of the bloody shower!"

She quirked an eyebrow. "You're insufferable; you know this, Ronald."

"_Mmmm_. So I've been told."

* * *

><p>"Well, Plummet's cocked that play up to hell."<p>

"You can't really expect much out of him, can you?" Ron stared at Neville's offhanded observation, eyes piercing into the side of the young man's head.

_How dare he speak about the Cannons like that?_ Only Ron was allowed to take the piss, and that was because he'd been a die-hard fan for as long as he could walk.

"Bollocks to that! I'll expect more than he's doing tonight. The bludger nearly took 'is head off, and he's flying there like a bleedin' knob! Not to mention Reiner is cobbing the hell out of anyone within a two centimetre radius!"

Ron listened to the radio in frustration. "Bloody hell!"

The Chudley Cannons were trailing the Falmouth Falcons by 220 points with an injured seeker. Even if they ever caught this snitch, which Ron knew they wouldn't, at that point , there was no chance of them winning.

Harry chuckled, learning long before not to comment where the Cannons were concerned, unless he was looking for a fight, which he wasn't that night. The group had accepted the rounds of drinks offered them by the pub's patrons, before ducking into a far corner where they'd be less conspicuous. Their fame and Ron's glowing hair always seemed to draw attention that none of them sought out. Harry nodded to Rosmerta, gestured to Ron, Neville, then himself, and held up three fingers. Lucky for all of them, the game would be over soon, and his best friend would be put out of his misery.

Ron sipped the last of his beer, disgusted with the whole game, and glanced at his watch.

"Oh, I can't, Harry...I have to meet Hermione in a bit. She's making pot roast for dinner..." He held out a hand, initially resisting his third round of ale, then accepting it.

"Merlin, I could go for some of Hermione's pot roast, right about now. Thank god the girl's finally learned how to cook. I was starting to think that even her breakfast fry-ups were going to give me botulism." Harry laughed, wrapping his lips around his bottle.

"Shut, up, Potter, would 'ya?" Ron only half-protested, knowing full well that if his mother and sister hadn't been giving Hermione go-to food preparation spells since just before they'd moved in together, he might not still be alive.

"Yeah, Hannah's working late at the Leaky. Rightly so, though, I've got some paperwork to catch up on anyway." Neville drained a few gulps of his ale. "I keep telling her that we need another hand down there, so we can have more..._time alone._"

"Oi! Neville...do you..." Harry interrupted, causing the wizard to blush, then grin, smugly.

"Longbottom's gone and grown a pair of bollocks since the DA, eh?" Ron laughed. Neville blanched, the apples of his cheeks reddening more.

"Well, wait, I have to hear about Hermione and Ginny all the time! And, in case you hadn't noticed, despite the numerous times I've pointed it out – I know how thick your head is sometimes." Harry roared with laughter, at Neville's defense. "I carried the DA on my back while you two were off playing Scavenger Hunt all those months before the War."

"Ah! Now it comes out! There it is, Longbottom!" Harry choked, then feigned surprise at the mention. Over the years, this had become a near-daily banter topic.

"Yes, _Potter_, there it is...and, also, my bollocks are just right, hear my fiancé tell it!" It was Ron's turn to laugh, turning bright red with humor. They all laughed, but there was more there; at least in Neville's eyes, there always was. He and Harry's relationship had been a bit strained just following the Battle. There was much loss on both sides, but Neville seemed to have taken the deaths of so many members of the group he'd lead all those months of hell at Hogwarts especially hard.

He and Ron had spoken on those rare occasions without Harry, and he'd learned so much of what lied behind his eyes; how he was coping after the significant losses, and how determined he was to return to normalcy. Neville had grown. He was mature in a way that could only be wrought from struggle and pain, and triumph. Most wouldn't realize what lay there, in the soft-spoken man; Neville had a quiet strength, so different than Ron himself.

"Completely appropriate pub conversation, I'd like to add, by the way: three men talking about Neville's bollocks. And, while we're on the subject," Harry mused, "I've had my share of un-obliviatable memories of Ron and Hermione to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. That first year after they'd become an item still haunts my nightmares more than Voldemort."

Ron choked on his beer, and Neville laughed, uncontrollably "...and I swear, I get a gray hair every time Harry says Ginny's name. Them sneaking 'round at the Burrow makes me want to choke him, and I really need a best mate, yeah."

"Oh Merlin... Please, the pair of you, can we talk about something else? Puddlemere United, perhaps?"

"Right! The last thing I need is any more thoughts of my best mates' girlfriends. Especially ones we know, personally, or are directly related to. Thanks in advance," Harry said, wearily, sipping his beer and stuffing a handful of crisps into his mouth.

"Alright, then." Ron rose, still chuckling and pulling his cloak closed around him. "I think I'm about ten minutes away from biting my arm off if I didn't need it so badly. Time for dinner, for me."

"Alright, then, Ron. See you tomorrow. I think I may be getting on, as well. Ginny'll want me to set the table while she finishes dinner, I'm sure."

"Same here. I think I'll head home. Hopefully Hannah hasn't worked _too_ hard, today."

Ron nodded and pulled his wand, and the other two men did the same, as they exited the pub. "Harry, you'll meet me at Primble and Boorman's Saturday, still?"

"I'll be there. Is Angelina still coming, as well? Ginny wishes she could make it, but she'll be busy with the Prophet all day."

"I certainly hope so. The two of us don't know what the hell we're doing, do we?"

"We? Shite, you know an awful lot more than I do."

"What on earth are you going – oh wait! You aren't!" Neville grinned, excitedly.

Ron nodded with a grin, quirking an eyebrow. "You never know what can happen in a place like that."

Neville slapped Ron on the shoulder good – naturally. "Well that's brilliant, Ron. It really is! Good luck to you, then. The pair of you.

"Thanks, Neville. I'll need it with my track record."

Harry chuckled. "I think this one's gonna be it. I feel good about it, I do."

"Really? Well, from your lips to Merlin's bloody ears." Ron stepped further out into the darkness. "Alright, then. I'll see you all in the office."

"Night. Tell Hermione I said hullo," Harry said, Disapparating.

Ron nodded, then glanced around. And with that, he turned on the spot.

/

/

* * *

><p><strong>AN** - Thanks to Kay Cannon for the beta work. Thanks to each of you for the reads, saves, reviews and faves. Love you and can't wait for Deathly Hallows 2 this week!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

On the May 4, 1998, Ron asked Hermione to marry him for the very first time. They hadn't even become a couple at that point; so many milestones had yet to be reached. Yet, there he was, asking her. They were much too young, of course, and he was in a cloud of grief and confusion, with an acute case of love and post-traumatic stress disorder, or at least, that's what the mental healer had called it, months later.

No, that wasn't the right time, at all. Looking back on this moment, he knew even then that it wasn't. He also just knew that he could never be without her, again. No more games, no more wondering about anyone else that could or would be in her life, instead of him. Just the thought of such a thing made a roar of possessiveness flare inside his chest. They had wasted so much time and he didn't want to waste another second. He wanted to be bonded to her; he wanted her forever.

Now, of course, Hermione turned him down. It was only right. They were barely eighteen. With no jobs and little education, how could either of them be expected to be a proper married couple? Would they live in the attic at the Burrow? Move into her parent's spare bedroom? _Well, we'd have our own bath, wouldn't we? _He'd said, much to her dismay, even if it _was _only a joke.

The second time Ron asked Hermione to marry him was April 14, 1999. He had just completed his Auror training; after the exhaustion, tests of his mental and physical wherewithal, highs, and extreme lows while away at camp, he had finally graduated. That joyous spring was underscored by Neville, Harry, Hermione's, and his acceptance of their Order of Merlin, First Class awards.

The wizards would start their careers immediately, beginning with the tracking and capture of the escaped Death Eater, Thorfinn Rowle. Ron was in high spirits, as was Hermione, who had completed her last year at Hogwarts and, as Head Girl and receiving perfect scores in her N.E.W.T.s, she'd received her own laundry list of job offers, as well. After much conversation with her friends and family, she decided to complete an extended doctoral program and, of course, continue her creature rights work, settling on the Ministry.

Molly Weasley hosted a month of celebratory events at the Burrow and, upon the final night, Ron had asked for Hermione's hand, following a quickly-placed Silencing Charm and a long night of slow, erotic lovemaking. Harry had awarded the two their privacy, and joined his fiancé in her childhood bedroom for the night, for a bit of their own celebrating, as well. She had, after all, completed Hogwarts, and would join the Harpies in autumn of that year.

_As Ron clung to her, pulling and pressing his hips against hers, he murmured words of implicit love into her ear, clipped with smoldering passion, causing her body to feel, and do, and fly apart in ways only he could. Later, when they lay together, spent, she shooed away all of those euphoric post-coital emotions thrumming through her body, as she looked into his eyes. His hair was the shortest she'd ever seen it, shorn off to soft fuzz during training, and his face was set with sincerity and devotion._

"_Hermione...will you, now? Will you marry me? Marry me..." Ron's blue eyes pleaded with her. "I want you to be my wife...I want you here, forever...I...I love you." _

_Her knee-jerk reaction was to say yes, but, with some thought, she decided against it once more. The corner of her mouth rose in a simple sort of melancholy smile. She ran her finger along his jaw, then his perfect pink lips, the darkness casting midnight blue over his powerful body as he held her. _

"_Ron...I love you." She kissed him again, pulling him closer to her. "I think I've always loved you; even before I knew you. My heart was just waiting for yours."_

_She looked away from his expectant, intense eyes, which were almost too much for her heart to bear. Denying him this, saying 'no' yet again, was harder than she'd ever thought possible._

"_We can't Ron...not now. We will...just not now."_

_He looked at her for a long moment, fully expecting this response but, of course, hoping for the best. He closed his eyes, following with a terse nod, allowing her to shower his face with atoning kisses. He took her again, just before dawn and, as she cried out his name in an otherworldly type of ecstasy, she was sure a piece of him was with her after that, forever._

_She loved him so much and they'd survived so much. They were here. They were alive, and flesh and blood, and would be family one day, but..._

_They were still too young, and their post-war lives were just beginning. Surely they could wait a little longer. Surely there would be a better time to get married than this. They were so unprepared; they were still so unready for the responsibilities that being in a marriage would bring._

No, that time still hadn't been right.

Even the moment they'd signed the leasing papers for their townhouse two years later, things still didn't feel..._right_. Not at all. Hermione had no problem 'living in sin,' with Ron, as she'd joked, on more than one occasion about; she was a modern witch, after all. A witch that loved her wizard and wanted to live with him. The marriage could come later.

Ron didn't ask her to marry him, anyway, but he'd thought about it and decided against it. This wouldn't become their own little running joke. He wouldn't have George calling him a glutton for punishment, and taking the piss out of him every time he was in the same room as Hermione and asked him some random question.

She'd always known that Ron was impulsive, emotional, fiery – all things that drew her so much to him, but _really_. Each time he'd reached a height of emotion, he needed something to hold on to. He needed her, to make sure she, _they _were still real.

"_Merlin! That's brilliant! Hermione...let's get married...let's just do it," or, "I can't take this anymore," he'd plead, eyes wet with tears. "I can't. Please, I need you in my life. Marry me...please."_

That wouldn't do, not at all. She hadn't said _no_, but _not now_.

A tentative yes. A yes in waiting.

In place of an outright 'yes,' though, she was sure to make him an undying promise of her heart. She would have him. That much was certain. He was her destiny. She would be a member of the Weasley family. She would be his wife.

Ron had made the decision after that last time. For the next and final proposal, he would wait until the stars had aligned. He'd wait until he was sure everything was right in both of their lives and careers, and everything... He'd wait until he knew, for certain, she'd give him the answer he so wanted to hear.

So, he saved his money. He'd been saving, for ages, now, really – working so hard at Wheezes, and then in the Corp. Every little knut that didn't go to their home, or to keeping him in pies and cakes, and Chudley Cannon season tickets was placed in his vault at Gringotts for safe-keeping.

Ron hated being poor as a child, and even more as a teen, and he refused to ever put his own future family in that position. Not ever. Even at his age, he'd begun to do everything he could to safeguard against ever needing for anything.

Hermione would have what she desired. They'd go on holiday for a few weeks a year. His children would have new, store-bought clothing and books, and wands, and broomsticks. There would be no hand-me-downs, no previously-owned belongings, not in his home.

He didn't share what he did with Hermione; only with Bill, who had found a rather comparatively low-key desk job in London, at Gringotts, once Victoire was born. It wasn't as sexy or enthralling as his curse removal work, but it was worth it to his Fleur to have him close and safe, near the family. Bill had been quietly investing small chunks of Ron's savings for him wherever he found a worthy, and sound enough source. Admittedly, Ron wasn't one for taking risks when it came to his gold, not to mention, he was pants at investing. So, he trusted in his eldest brother's judgment, more often than not.

Ron would glance around the Daily Prophet, sometimes, pretending to look at professional Quidditch match scores. In actuality, he was peeking at the _Financial _section, watching how his investments were performing. A sickle here, a galleon there, over the years had added up quite nicely.

_Ron shifted in his seat, signing the necessary paperwork, glancing up at his older brother more times than he knew was necessary, finally initialing on the last line of the parchment. "Six hundred Galleons, Ronnie? That's quite a bit of change in one place, little brother. You sure about this?"_

"_Yeah; I'm positive...She's worth it."_

"'_Course she is, Ron. And it's about time, too. You've gotta do this right, haven't you?" Ron nodded, standing. Bill walked around his large desk, wrapping his arm around his little brother's broad shoulders, rocking him comfortingly. "Alright, then. Let's get you a goblin to take you down, eh? Watch your eyebrows, though. I hear that new dragon's worse than the last...then again, you would know all about that, wouldn't you?"_

_Ron chuckled with nostalgia. "Yeah, that last dragon was a bloody bastard."_

So, when he'd decided this next and hopefully final time, that he would search for an engagement ring that was worthy of a witch such as Hermione at Primble and Boorman, one of the premiere magical jewelers in the U.K., more than one eyebrow was raised. Though, no one would admit this to the redhead.

Ron glanced around at the rows of jewelry, feeling quite overwhelmed. There were just so many choices. There were rings with plain bands, and swirling bands, ones with several stones, and simple ones with a single stone at the center. It was all so confusing, and he wanted – needed – to make the right choice. This had to be right; she had to say _yes_, and something as important at this had to be _perfect_.

"Ron... Well, what about that one? It's really rather pretty." Angelina leaned over the counter, her long brown hair pulled into a neat bun. She pointed her caramel finger at a simple small-stoned ring, with a gold band.

"Er...that's..._nice_... Only...I was thinking of something a little...bigger." Angelina nodded, proud of her little brother-in-law. Bigger was always better, at least for her it was. Ron continued scanning the cases, Harry on a far side of the store, looking at rings for his best friend to present to his other best friend, and maybe a little something for Ginny; some earrings, perhaps.

"Ron, hey, what about this one? This one's nice." Ron crossed the store to where Harry was pointing. This one was definitely a contender. Very nice – simple, just like Hermione liked her jewelry. Ron nodded. He felt comfortable knowing that the ring his future wife would accept and wear was in this room. He would just have to search for it.

He continued scanning the rows of rings, necklaces, and earrings. After long, the trio had been there for nearly two hours, and had most certainly looked at every ring in the store. The elderly shop owner wearily hobbled out into the showroom, then whispered something to Eldon Boorman, great grandnephew of the store's namesake, and the young man who'd been assisting them. He had shown the group most of what he had to offer, finally assuring them that he may have something from what the store kept in the back.

After he'd returned, he set a long box before them, flipping the latches open. Ron scanned the velvet case and his eyes rested on one in particular; the one ring that caused his ears to burn and the hairs on his neck to stand on-end. "Yes, ah...I'd like to see that one, please."

Ron was far more excited than he let on, rubbing his moist palms against his trousers. The Goblin-made ring was definitely interesting, and sparkly. It was sturdy, with a nice-sized diamond at the center, and smaller sapphires blended along a band of diamonds.

"Oh Ron, that's lovely!" Angelina cooed, looking at the ring Eldon held out for the group to see. He quickly buffed it with a cloth on his waist, and then handed it to Ron's awaiting fingers. It was not lost on him that the stones surrounding the diamond were Hermione's birthstone, nor did he miss the fact that she would think that such a sizable ring would be much too much to spend on an engagement, which only added to its appeal.

"What do you think, Harry?" His friend took the small ring of platinum, and examined it closely. It was quite nice, and he knew that Hermione would love the sapphires, as her favorite color was blue. It was simple, but eye-catching.

"I think she'll love this one, mate. It's perfect; it really is."

Ron beamed. The longer he stared at the ring, the more he could picture the look on Hermione's face once she'd seen it. Then, he could picture the way it would look on her fingers as she ran her dainty hands through her hair and it caught the light. He could see the way it would look as she rubbed her protruding belly, feet elevated and eating ice cream, happily, as he charmed the nursery ceiling to look like stars across the sky.

This was the one.

He pulled out the large sack of galleons and handed over a percentage of what he'd had stashed in his robes, signed some parchments, then received a note in return. He'd have to have it sized, and then it would be ready for him to pick up in a fortnight or so.

He was excited, but there was still so much more to do. He'd have to speak to her father; Ron wanted to do this the right way, this time. He didn't think this would be a problem, though. He'd always gotten on rather well with him, both of her parents, really. Ron was sure they were just waiting, patiently, for this moment; that everyone had been waiting for, since the pair had become an item.

Once they'd left the jeweler, he realized that he was buzzing with an energy that he hadn't anticipated. He was a bit nervous. He didn't even have the ring in-hand and hadn't even asked Hermione, but the fact that he'd just plunked down a sizable amount of money for a ring made it that much more real.

Ron shifted, running his fingers through his hair. "Alright, then, thanks for meeting me here, Ange."

"Not at all, little brother. It's time you did this. Let me know how it goes...then again, I'm sure the whole family will know. Have you figured out how or when you'll do it?"

"No... Not really."

"Ah, that's alright; anyway I'm sure it'll be perfect, so long's you tell Hermione what's in here." She poked him lightly in his chest. "If you need some ideas, I'm 'round, and I promise not to breathe a word to Georgie. Your brother can't keep a secret for shite!" Angelina chucked, pulling him into a warm hug. "Let me know if I can help." She winked at him before Disapparating.

"Sure...yeah," he mumbled to no one in particular.

"I'll come with you to pick it up when it's ready, yeah?" Harry smiled. "I s'pose I'll see you Sunday, then? Your mum's making roast chicken this week, I hear." Harry groaned happily, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

"Right..."

"Ginny's promised to make that chocolate pie of hers, and–" Ron was nodding, mindlessly, as Harry continued chatting. "Ron? I said that she was making the _chocolate _pie. Chocolate, mate...you alright?" Harry stepped closer to his friend, who seemed just a bit green around the gills. "It'll be okay; you know that, don't you? Hermione loves you...Merlin, it's kind of disgusting."

"I know, I know. I just...I'm a bit of an arse sometimes, aren't I? And I don't pick up my socks, and I snore like a madman, and I come in half-dead from the missions all the time... Probably make her sick from worry... Don't know why she'd say 'yes' to me."

"Oh, shut up, would you? What are you on about, anyway? H've you gone mad? Why on earth would she stay with you this long if all of that was really important to the girl?"

"I know. I mean...I just thought..."

"I know mate, but do us all a favor, and _don't_. She'll say yes this time. She'll love the ring as much as she loves you, which is quite a lot."

He looked into Harry's honest and confident green eyes, and was comforted a bit. "Thanks, mate...really."

"Course! It'll be fine! Don't worry so much!" He smiled at Ron, punching his shoulder, lightly. "You'll have a bunch of little red-headed Weasleys, and all will be right with the world. Trust me. You trust me, don't you?"

Ron nodded. Then, Harry stepped away from him, preparing to take his leave. Uncertainty still swirled around his head after Harry Disapparated. That long-since banished piece of youthful self-doubt came itching its way back into his subconscious.

What if she didn't like the ring? What if she still didn't think the time was right for either of them? What if she denied him...again?

He'd done the work he needed to, and had made such major strides in the years that had followed the war. Of course, having the career he'd chosen may not have been the most ideal choice for someone healing from major mental trauma – perhaps a cushy office job would have been a better choice – but, he was doing rather well, all things considered.

These days, even when he'd had the stray nightmare or mild anxiety attack, he'd tried his best to deal with it himself, for both their sakes. How would he expect her to want to be married to a man with issues like that? He knew Hermione was different, that he wasn't just some random bloke to her. He knew she was patient, and he knew that she loved him, but the last thing he needed was to give her yet another reason to put off their marriage, served up to her on a silver platter.

His nervousness dissolved into something entirely different that evening, once he'd made his way back to their home and Hermione was curled in her favorite chair in the corner of their living room, nose in a rather large book. Her hair was a mad halo of curls, of course, but she'd attempted to tame it into an elastic tie. There were tendrils popping all around, at random angles, and she wore a small smile of utter interest in the text that she was reading. A smooth curve of cleavage was pressed against her arm from the angle she was sitting in, her thighs bare in casual shorts.

She looked too beautiful, too soft for words.

He knew he would have to give the ring to Harry and Ginny, for safe-keeping. Ron had to stop himself from asking her to marry him in that moment and he didn't even have the ring in-hand. This would be more difficult than he had thought it'd be.

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><p><strong>AN -** I really do appreciate all the readers who have taken the time to review; it means so much to me as a writer. Thanks to all you guys that read, fave, and follow my little Ron/Hermione; its so close to my heart. Thanks to **Kay Cannon**, my beta fish, without whom my work would read much crappier. So, what did everyone think of Deathly Hallows 2? Oh yeah, if you're on **Twitter**, come play with me: Artbeatsandlife or **Tumblr**: Robot Tango

Till next time.


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